Dear Balloon Fiesta

Dear Balloon Fiesta,

 I love you. And I hate you.
Mostly, I love you.

 Watching hundreds of hot air balloons floating into the sky is magical. Really. It thrills my to my core. I think of all the people who learned how to pilot the balloons, so many dreams fulfilled. And the coordination to get them all up in the sky of Albuquerque at the same time, and it sings to my heart.

 So, I came to see you Fiesta.  Up close and personal. Thursday morning. I was there before the sun came up with my four children, so we could watch the glowing dawn.  Like giant mushrooms or jellyfish glowing against the horizon.

 You didn't glow. The wind?
I came, and brought my children. Four of them. Every single child I own. I woke them from their beds and layered on two pairs of pants, gloves on each of their hands, and took them on a bus to you. In the dark. On a bus. Without bathrooms. The ride was long. Especially since I seemed to have the bus driver set on taking the route assigned and then took a few wrong turns. It was a long ride.  But there was the promise of balloons ascending into the sky in droves.


 You didn't fly. Wind I guess.

 It didn't feel windy. It felt like the balloons should go up. Flying. Cute little baskets hanging in the air. They didn't fly.

 The balloons inflated. That was good. Spideypig was my favorite. And the princess. She was great.
In conclusion, Fiesta, when my brother and his pregnant wife and three kids, and my sister-n-law and her five kids all come and get out of bed at 4:30 in the morning, I would appreciate a little more effort on your part to make the dawn glow and the balloons fly.  

 Love,
Evelyn

 P.S. I still love you.  See you next year. Fly for me.

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